Pieces to the Summoning
by child-dragon
Summary: The knowledge to summon Lavos had to be gathered before Magus could complete his plan and he was prepared to make any sacrifice to achieve it. Let the others have their war.


Deep within Magus's lair, where the howl of the wind outside was muted by layers of stonewall and the room was lit only by the barest of candlelight; Flea pouted. He sat slouched in his chair, ornate wood carved with clawed feet clutching the carpet, his white robe trailing off over one arm and the other, delicate, hand cupping a fine chin. The fireplace had died down into embers and Slash stood near the mantle, watching the red glow whisper, his arms folded and every bit of him tense like strung wire.

"He doesn't trust us," Flea finally said, his voice high and in an unmistakable whine.

Slash did not reply immediately. There really was no point to, not once Flea had his mind made up to be offended. He had long ago learned that his fellow mystic was given to fits of temper and passion and they were as dangerous as the morning mist. They rolled right past him without any affect.

"He takes _Ozzie_ with him but leaves us here to rot," the magician continued and after a moment sighed dramatically and switched hands, tapping absently on the side of the chair.

"He doesn't exactly trust Ozzie either," Slash replied.

"_He's _General though!"

"You want to do that?"

Flea sat up straight in the chair and made a deal of examining his immaculate nails. Fine hands, a fine figure – delicate. Everything about Flea was varnished into perfection, a vain indulgence for someone whose strength did not depend on the body.

"Not particularly, no," he finally replied, "I have my arcane lore, you have your sword, and Ozzie, unfortunately, has a head for tactics."

"Then stop complaining."

"But," Flea started but stopped in mid-whine. "Very well. Still."

Both of them remembered the boy and the slow growth from boy to man. Slash had taught Magus the sword. Flea had taught him magic. And when he'd surpassed them both and become a figurehead for all the mystics the two had pledged their loyalty and their lives to his cause. It was almost like fate itself had a hand in this – Magus was destined to eradicate the humans. It was a miracle of chance that brought them this leader. And yet… even after so many years, after so many years of work and rallying – or subduing – the scattered mystics into one massed army with the intent of destroying the human kingdom – Magus remained an enigma. Slash had seen the look of cold determination in his eyes when he picked himself up time and time again, swearing silently to defeat his teacher at his own game. Flea had seen it in his relentless pursuit of knowledge. Then he learned all he could from them and turned cold and distant.

But he had a key to winning this war. Lavos. He just needed all the pieces… the last keys to create this ultimate weapon. That's what he said… and so he took Ozzie and a small detachment of troops to make a brief incursion into the human lands.

It would be dangerous, of course. They weren't really a force designed to fight – just get into the territory, get what they wanted, and get out – hopefully without being noticed. Both Slash and Flea knew that Magus would sacrifice his entire troop without hesitation and perhaps even leave Ozzie out as bait if he really needed an escape.

That bothered the two. But surely he had his reasons. Surely the risk was worth the reward.

"He could have taken one of us with him," Flea finally said, sliding back into a silky sulk, "We swore to serve him."

"He doesn't need our protection anymore."

One of the branches in the fireplace cracked and spit red embers up into the air. They reflected off the dark eyes of the two mystics and neither spoke.

* * *

Magus was down on one knee, running his hand just an inch above the surface of the scythe's blade and blue flame followed as he did, eating up the blood and leaving the stink of shadow magic behind. There were sharp cries around him, ending swiftly, as the soldiers finished off the rest of the humans. A small force, set to guard a trivial bridge. Magus had wanted to pass it by but Ozzie had insisted. Something about a distraction, that if they eliminated this force the humans would assume that their next strike would be in this direction. 

"If we're going to go on this inane errand we might as well benefit from it," Ozzie had insisted, "They'll think this is our target. We'll have less to deal with when we launch the main offensive further north."

"It's hardly an inane errand," Magus had replied but nodded his assent and Ozzie had ordered his troops to the attack.

"Gather the dead," Ozzie called out, "We'll leave them here as a… present."

He laughed. Magus stood and glanced to the side where the small pocket of guards he'd personally seen to lay. Three dead outright, one dying. The man was young, barely starting to grow a beard, and the scythe had nearly torn his arm off. He lay gasping, slowly growing pale from blood loss, and watched at the sky with the quiet desperation of someone who knew they were going to die, but that death was not coming nearly fast enough. Magus turned and walked towards the bridge itself. One of his underlings could finish the boy off, or just let him die slowly, for all he cared.

Behind him, Ozzie was making the incantations that would strip the human soldiers of any semblance to their former selves and leave them as animated skeletons, bound to Ozzie's will. Fragile things, but terrifying, and it sickened the human army to know they were fighting the very corpses of their friends. Ozzie had always been quite proud of that particular bit of genius. Magus knew it was just another method to ensure that there were plenty of troops between him and danger.

The bridge was a glorified plank. Wooden in construction, spanning a narrow river that ran deep and fast. Magus walked to the middle of it and stared out at the fields beyond. Soft rolling hills for miles until they reached forest that climbed up to meet with mountains. There was a village somewhere nestled in one of those valleys. A very small village, insignificant. Worthless. Perhaps he'd led Ozzie raze the damn thing as a distraction while he found what he needed. It'd make the General happy. Help his distraction plan along.

No one approached him as they went to the task of clearing up the battlefield. There were a handful of mystic dead and these were treated with due respect, their bodies lay out and cremated with magical fire so that not even ashes remained. Once or twice, when losses were especially difficult, Magus himself had been the one to dispose of the honored dead and the occasion had been solemn and almost sacred, the mystic army silent before the leader they almost worshipped like a god. The thrill of such power had been exhilarating and Magus was careful to distance himself from it, lest he forget entirely what he meant to accomplish with all this war.

His hands gripped the rail of the bridge and he stared out across the river. As if he could forget. A soft grin twisted his face but his eyes remained hard. As if.

This was why no one approached him. He was injured from the fighting – a mere scratch from some lucky arrow grazing his arm – but no one would dare make a fuss and ask if it needed to be tended to. It'd clot on its own. He did not want the attention. Let them fuss and scurry to obey Ozzie's whims. So long as he spoke and they obeyed. Magus needed nothing more.

"We're almost ready to move out," someone said, respectfully, from the edge of the bridge. Magus gave the gargoyle creature a brief, disinterested gaze, and then nodded curtly.

"I want to see Ozzie as soon as he's done."

And he turned and walked to the other side of the bridge, enjoying the feel of the breeze through his hair and under his cloak. It washed the smell of blood and dying away from him and cleared his head. The adrenalin from the battle was fading, the intensity of combat was dwindling away, and the fading moments of exhilaration brought on by bloodlust cleared his mind enough that he could see with hypersensitivity to the world. The human lives sheltered in their valley. The rocky, barren, place on a hillside to the east of the town. A haunted place. He narrowed his eyes.

"Magus?"

Ozzie sometimes did not bother using titles. When they were around the soldiers, yes, but if they were out of earshot he dropped formality. One of the things that annoyed Magus but he let it slide. Ozzie remained useful.

"I'm guessing you would like to raze the town as well?"

"If it fits in whatever purpose you have for dragging us out here, yes."

There was a gleeful note in Ozzie's voice. This would occupy his attention quite well.

"It does. What I intend to accomplish would only be complicated by the soldiers."

"We'll have to raid it after dark," Ozzie mused, "The humans don't see well in the dark and that should make up for our small numbers. It… it would also be useful if we had some support…"

"For the first strike," Magus conceded, "Enough to break their resolve and scatter them. But after that you're on your own. What I need to accomplish is best done at night as well."

Ozzie didn't reply to that and Magus knew with a certain amount of glee that he was busy dreading having Magus abandon them shortly after the fighting started. Ozzie was always so confident if he could rely on Magus to back him up on his boasts. Generally, Magus did. It would be amusing to let Ozzie stand on his own this time, however.

The skeletal soldiers were taking their places at the bridge, just as they had before the mystics attacked. They'd cover their escape after the raid. Until then, the small force just had to remain hidden until nightfall. Most of the group was nocturnal in preference so they were relieved when Ozzie gave the orders to spread out and start scouting for a good bolthole until nightfall. After a moment Magus vanished his scythe, warping the metal into a small, inconspicuous medallion that he tucked onto his belt. He pulled the hood of his cloak up and gestured at Ozzie for a moment to get his attention.

"I'm scouting out the town," he said softly, "I'll find you before sunset."

For a moment the mystic General looked surprised. Then, hesitantly, he nodded. He could give orders all he wanted, even some to Magus, but when Magus himself decided upon a thing it was best not to argue.

"Move out!" Ozzie roared to hide the small bit of surprise and as the rest of the strike force split up to find suitable cover Magus turned his back and slipped off in the direction of the town.

* * *

He walked. His power was enough that he could hover, levitate himself, but the last thing he wanted to do was attract attention. Flea had taught him the art of shape shifting to some degree and when he was well enough out of sight of his own troops and before he reached the dirt road that led to the town he stopped and drew a circle in the dirt. Stood in the center of it and spread his arms to either side, murmuring under his breath and drawing his shadow magic into himself, feeling it flood his veins like ice. Ozzie was loud in his spell casting. Magus was far more subdued. 

The magic took hold and faded, leaving him shivering at the sudden absence and cold. He pulled his cloak tighter about him and continued walking, more confident now in his disguise. His pale blue-white hair was dark brown and his sharp features had been exchanged for more rounded ones typical of human peasants. A hint of sunburn showed on his cheeks and the ears were rounded and blunt. He'd pass as a stranger to the town but nothing more sinister then that.

It was an agricultural community. He encountered the fields long before the town itself and every now and then a group of fieldworkers would stand and watch as he passed by. Closer to the town itself, a young girl came running from the house and leapt up onto the fence, peering curiously at the newcomer, trying to see under his hood. She had to be no older than ten.

"Whose you?" she asked.

"Stop bothering strangers," Magus replied softly and there was a touch of will in his voice. The girl's eyes went glassy for a moment and she quietly hopped off the fence and staggered back towards the house under the influence of Magus's ire. He smiled.

Scouting the town's defenses out was a reason that would satisfy Ozzie. The real reason was that he wanted to make sure the object he was after hadn't been grabbed by the townsfolk already and that it wasn't destroyed in the raze to come. There was another thing he needed as well… but that would be easy to acquire.

There were guards stationed outside a hastily erected palisade around the town proper. They were sent from the main army, certainly, and more were probably drawn from the local populace to swell their small numbers. A token force to protect this village. A bit more resistance then Magus's small strike force was prepared to handle but Magus was confident that the mere sight of his person and his magic would be enough to tip the odds back in their favor.

They challenged him before he could enter. He pushed back his hood, let them look upon his human features, and after a moment they were satisfied.

"Not too many pass through here," one of the guards commented, "Out of the way place."

"Away from the war," Magus replied, his voice easy and his grin not so cold, "Reason why I'm here."

"Oh? Brawny lad like you should consider enlisting," the guard retorted, "God knows we need the help."

"I've got no talent with a sword. Maybe when things get desperate enough that they need bodies and nothing more I'll consider."

"A'right. A g'day to ya then."

The guards nodded him through. He surveyed the town briefly, then settled on making his way to the well in the middle of the town. It was a central enough location that he could linger at. There was a young woman there, dressed in a brown surcoat and currently drawing up water from the well. She eyed him appreciatively and Magus could fairly read the thoughts that were going through her head. A stranger. Not one of these farm boys she'd grown up with. Handsome – Magus was vain enough to keep that even in his altered appearance. She was ambitious, perhaps, wanted out of this town. Optimistic that she could find something better than this, even with a war on the borders.

"Traveled far?" she asked as he approached. He nodded and she unhooked her bucket and held it up for him to take a drink from. Her eyes didn't leave him as he cupped his hand and accepted the cold well water.

"Thank you," he replied. She'd be dead before the morning.

"We don't get many strangers here," she said, "You alone?"

So many questions there. Was he married, had he left family behind? Were there any past wives, now dead?

"Yes, I haven't settled down anywhere yet," he replied, answering all her questions. Her eyes lit up.

"Pleased to meet you, then. I'm Lace."

The corner of Magus's lips twitched in a smile.

"Merris," he replied, "Your town looks to be a nice sort… if a bit dull."

"Oh, it's very dull," she sighed in agreement and put the bucket on her hip, "Quiet. The soldiers livened things up when they came. Spend their off hours drinking and chasing the women." She made a face. "Lot of our boys signed up too and they're being taught to fight. Real proud of themselves. But honestly, I'm not too worried. We're so far out of the way I can't imagine Magus sending his army here."

"You're not afraid?"

She waved a hand dismissively.

"The mystics have been small and weak for all time," she sniffed, "Guardia is strong. We'll be alright."

Magus didn't reply. An idiot, like the rest of her kind. She didn't remember a time when the mystics were so far more than what they'd degenerated to, when they ruled supreme and the humans crawled below like slaves. Well, he remembered the glory and power of the old days. And although he wasn't going to restore what was lost the sheer memory of it had spread throughout his army and they would fight with the fervor of those that had everything to prove. The humans didn't understand what they were up against. They would, when the true offensive began. When Magus's own plans were closer to completion.

"I've heard there is one point of interest to this place," Magus said, "A hillside. Supposedly haunted."

Lace just laughed. "Oh, that place? It's just a broken down ruin that our parents use to keep us from wandering far at night. Don't go out when the moon is up or the ghosts will get you. That sort of thing."

"I've heard there's a treasure there."

"Well, if there is, I certainly haven't seen it," she said with a sniff, "And I've been up there plenty of times. We all have, once we got older and stopped believing in ghosts. It's a weird place, kinda neat. Would you like to see it? I can take you there."

He made a show of contemplating. Everything was falling in so neatly.

"Ghost stories are best at night," he finally said. Her eyes lit up, grasping on an entirely incorrect assumption.

"They are," she said, her eyes glittering, "I'll meet you at the south gate then, at sunset?"

"Agreed," Magus said. She winked at him and walked off, back to whatever hovel she called home. Magus leaned against the well and cast out with his mind, probing the town for any sign of power. There was the general tumult of so many minds but nothing stood out from that. No artifacts of power. Not even a sword forged with a scrap of magic into its metal. Just simple, blunt, human minds. Well, that was to be expected. He honestly didn't think that the humans would dare try and wrest the artifact from the ruins, or even know how. It helped to be sure though as he did not want to take chances.

There was still a bit of time before he should consider returning to wherever Ozzie was hiding and waiting. He'd stop by the tavern, count the guards there, and then see how well fortified the palisade actually was. That'd be enough. Then he could drop the wretched disguise and finish what he had set out to do.

* * *

"There's a low point in the palisade where the land dips," Magus said, drawing a map in midair for Ozzie's benefit, "I can destroy it and you'll have a opening right into the belly of the village." 

"And the soldiers are mostly local recruits?" the General mused.

"Still being trained to use a sword. I imagine if you split our force into groups of three you should be able to deal with even the trained soldiers."

"And if they form up into units?"

Those would be problematic. So long as they remained scattered they could be picked off but once they formed a coherent force there would be problems. Magus's small force couldn't survive a pitched battle for long.

"You're the strategist," Magus snapped, annoyed. He knew what Ozzie was hinting at. If they formed up into units they'd need Magus's magic to blast them apart into smaller groups, easier to pick off. And Magus would only be there for the first few minutes.

"Fine," Ozzie replied sullenly, "We'll just move fast and divide their forces so they can't regroup. And what will you be doing, anyway?"

"Recovering a piece to bringing forth the weapon that will win this war," Magus replied calmly.

Ozzie's eyes lit up with excitement and greed. Lavos. If only the idiots knew.

* * *

The small group moved about an hour after sunset. Lace would be waiting at the south gate, away from where the attack would occur, and Magus was certain she would wait for him half the night if she had to. Humans were stubborn things but there was always some flaw that could be manipulated… always. The town was lit by the scant light of the moon and torches that barely reached beyond the palisade. There was only one guard up on the portion Ozzie planned to attack and Magus decided to take this one himself. He had discarded his disguise as soon as he left the town and now he had his scythe out, his armor on, and his cloak was wrapped tight around him and the hood up. It was midnight blue, concealing him in shadow as he approached the village. The mystics with him were similarly quiet, staying low and with the soot from a small fire they'd made for this purpose coating the shine of their weapons. Ozzie was in the rear, waiting for the attack to begin. Coward. 

Magus signaled for the troops to remain where they were and he went on ahead, skirting along low to the ground, no longer running but levitating only half a foot over the ground so that a footstep wouldn't give him away. The guard didn't notice the movement and Magus was against the wall. He put one hand on it, then both feet, and leapt, his levitation giving him the ability to sail up above the edge of the palisade and the guard got out one strangled scream of panic and surprise before Magus brought his scythe around and separated his head from his shoulders, the body falling off with a sick thud to the ground below. Murmurs of sudden confusion sprung from the village and Magus leapt to a nearby rooftop and gestured, incanting the trigger for fire.

It exploded from a single point at the base of the palisade, a wave of flame and force that slammed into the wood and the surrounding houses, blowing chunks out of the wall and setting the rooftops on fire. His mystic soldiers poured through the hole, quickly dividing into groups and scattering through the city, killing anything that got in their path. Screams erupted, generally short-lived. Magus hopped off the roof and into the air, drifting down towards the village center where, as expected, the trained soldiers were attempting to rally. They quailed as he threw his cloak back, exposing the fair blue-white hair to the gleam of the moonlight and the harsh glare of the spreading fire.

"Run," he said mockingly, "Or die where you stand."

A couple broke. The inner group, the most disciplined, steeled themselves. Magus threw his arms out to either side, laughed, and pointed at one and incanted for shadow. The stuff poured up from the ground, wrapping around him, pulling at his soul and the ties between the body and the man screamed like some unnatural animal. Then he collapsed and his companions realized that he wasn't quite dead yet… and were the more afraid for it.

One more spell. They'd scatter then. He put his palms together, oblivious to the arrows that leapt out at him and glanced aside off his armor, and murmured the last of the spells he would care to use for the night.

Gestured. Lighting burst from his fingertip, the static lifting his hair into a veil, and the bolts leapt out and struck the center of the guards, leaping from armor to armor and scorching them where they stood. The smell of burnt flesh briefly overwhelmed the smoke that was pouring from the houses. The unit broke and fled and was met by the smaller mystic teams that had been waiting in the shadows for just this moment. Magus laughed and drifted higher before turning and vanishing into the clouds of smoke that bellowed from the rapidly burning buildings. Ozzie could finish this up.

He found Lace cowering outside the palisade, too afraid to run but too smart to enter the town proper. He landed before her, blocking her path to open country and trapping her against the palisade wall.

"You said mystics were weak," he said, amused, and stepped forward. She shrank to the ground, "Wish to reevaluate that?"

She gaped at him. He reached out and snagged one skinny wrist and hoisted her to her feet.

"I don't need you to lead me to the ruins," he growled, his eyes glittering, "But I do need you to be present. You either come or I leave you here to die by the sword."

She nodded, mutely. One thing he had not bothered to disguise was his voice and even with the raw disdain he no longer bothered to hide she recognized him as the man she had talked to earlier. For her part, she did not cry. Not yet.

He did not need to coerce her to come. She followed, too afraid or too smart to run. The ruins loomed before them at the crest of a hill, a sharp and rocky place compared to the gentle lulls of the rest of the terrain. The remains of the pillars were worn beyond recognition but for a brief moment Magus realized what they could have looked like, long ago, in their prime. He paused for a moment and heard very, very quiet crying from Lace.

It took a little more pressure to force her up to the top of the hill. Magus took her arm in a grip so tight it bruised and dragged her along, the girl whimpering all the way. It was the terror of the unknown, surely, and the fact that despite living in such an insignificant village she knew who he was.

Magus sniffed the night air carefully. Ancient power stung in his lungs like hot ash. He tossed Lace to the ground in the middle of what was a mosaic circle and stalked about the edge, tasting the feel of knowledge long lost. Familiar knowledge. Funny, how for someone who wanted to be immortal, this was all that was left… this and him.

He set his scythe aside. It was a bit unwieldy for what must be done and he wanted her to know fully what was to happen so that the power of the sacrifice would be at its fullest. She tried to crawl away as he advanced but he knelt and put one knee on her hips, pinning her to the ground, and with his off hand snatched up both wrists and held them locked in place. She looked at him for only half a second and then gasped sharply and turned away, hiding her head.

There was a knife at his belt. He drew it, letting the blade slide against the metal edge of the sheath so that she'd know what it was. Her body shuddered once.

Once, a long time ago, this wouldn't be necessary. The things that were sealed away could be unlocked by a group of his kind, working in concert to undo the wards that protected these pieces of forbidden magic. Dark magic, power that was sealed away after it was created so that it would not be used again. Zeal did this to protect herself, so that no one else would learn how to summon Lavos. And he, a lone mage – powerful, yes – did not have the strength to unlock them on his own.

So he borrowed.

The knife was brought down, angled into her heart, and she didn't make a sound. Her eyes went wide, her body went rigid for a second, and then she died and Magus let go and stood, feeling the sudden release of her life-force swirl around him. He took hold of it. No afterlife for this one – just oblivion. Fuel for his own magic.

He tasted her fear, her hopes, and the sudden – brief – eclipse of all of these in one instant. Wrapped them into his own magic, drawing shadow into the same strands as death and life and the fine line between the two, and then released it all against the seal in this place.

The mosaic ruptured below his feet. It quaked, cracks radiating out from where he stood and Magus, his body burning with the magic, barely noticed. Not until it was all spent, the wards sizzling like ozone in the air and finally stretching and breaking away, that he collapsed to the broken ground, curling over with his forearms against the ground and small pieces of stone digging into his knees and exposed skin. He was panting and his hair was slicked to his forehead. There was the tang of blood in his mouth and he swallowed it, then wiped away what little had escaped from between his lips with the back of his hand.

Lying before him was a cube, about the size of a fist, and bound with intricate symbols from a language now extinct. He stood, shaking a little from exertion, and picked it up. It hummed for a moment, recognizing the race of what held it, and then fell silent. It'd tell him its secrets later. Tell him more about the Black Wind and the summoning.

He'd give it another hour before returning to Ozzie and the rest. He was still weak and shaking from the sheer effort it took to break through Zeal's wards and he did not want them to see him weak. Did not want Ozzie, that opportunistic coward, to see him weak. He edged away from the mosaic and sat with his back against a pillar. Lace's body was gone – consumed utterly as energy for his spell. He blinked, the sudden fact that he couldn't even remember what her hair color was coming to him. It was amusing and he chuckled, fingering the cube that hid in his belt pouch. The burning town lit the horizon and even here, on this hillside, he could hear the cries. They were growing more infrequent now and soon the night would be quiet again. That's when they'd leave this place behind and return to his lair.

There was still much to be done. Let Ozzie run his little war and bit-by-bit, he would assemble all the power and all the pieces he needed. And then Lavos would be his and all these years would be avenged. What would happen from there never even bothered to cross his mind.


End file.
